


Burnt Sienna (and Other Confusing Colors)

by ricekrispyjoints



Series: All the Colors of the Win [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Character, Best Friends, Colors, Eye Contact, Friendship, M/M, Nekoma, Queerplatonic Relationships, Social Anxiety, Soulmates, asexual Kenma, demi Kuroo, side bokuaka, side kagehina, soulmate colors au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4556253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricekrispyjoints/pseuds/ricekrispyjoints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozume Kenma once dreamed of seeing colors, but growing up he's learned to fear eye contact. He'll never find his Soulmate and unlock the colors if he can't look anyone in the eye.</p><p>In middle school, Kenma meets Kuroo Tetsurou and he enters a world where he is no longer isolated. Kenma learns to trust, learns to belong, and finds the true beauty of that burnt sienna, and other confusing colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Siseja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siseja/gifts).



> Hello friends I'm back with more ace fics, this time featuring my tiny child Kenma.
> 
> The idea for this AU comes from my wonderful friend Siseja, who suggested it on kik and I responded with "GRABBY HANDS I WANNA WRITE IT"... and so I did. 
> 
> Beta'd as always by my darling cloudmonstachopper. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rise and fall of Kenma's interest in eye contact.

“You’ll understand, one day,” Kenma’s mother tells him as she heaps dinner onto his plate. “Having a Soulmate is about more than being able to see colors.”

“They’re a life companion,” his father chimes in, looking at his mother with an expression of open adoration. “Someone that you share experiences, emotions, fears, hopes, and dreams with.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose at the grey mass of food on his plate, poking at it gingerly with chopsticks. He told his mom he wasn’t really that hungry, but she always serves him too much anyway. Something about being a ‘growing boy.’ He’s twelve, and already thinks he’s heard enough talk of Soulmates to last him a lifetime.

The anticipation hangs thick in the air, his parents waiting for Kenma to react, to acknowledge what they’re saying. Kenma ignores it. They’ve said the same things before, and honestly, Kenma isn’t convinced that having a Soulmate wouldn’t be … terrifying.

 

 

From a young age, Kenma has avoided eye-contact. Even before he knew about Soulmates and seeing in color, he was shy and preferred looking at his Velcro shoes to his classmates’ faces.

Thinking it would encourage him socially, the family pediatrician suggested that Kenma’s parents have the Soulmate talk with Kenma a little early, but focus on the seeing color part to draw him out. At first, Kenma was intrigued by the nebulous idea of colors. What were they like? What did they do? How could they already exist but he couldn’t _see_ them?

For about two weeks, six-year-old Kenma would go around grabbing his classmates’ faces and stare them down, trying to make the colors appear. The other students didn’t understand what he was doing, and he wasn’t able to explain colors any better than his parents had.

“They fill in the spaces with… brightness,” Kenma said, “instead of grey.”

 His classmates tilted their heads and scrunched their eyebrows in confusion.

“Let’s ask Ama-chan!” A girl with spikey pigtails suggested after a beat of silence.

Their teacher, Ama-chan, was more than a little concerned that her six-year-old students were asking about Soulmates and colors. This was a topic that most schools, if they even taught it, waited until puberty to officially address.

“I’m not trained for this!” Ama-chan had told Kenma’s mother at a parent-teacher conference. “He’s disrupting the class with these topics, and I don’t find it appropriate for children so young. What you teach Kenma-kun at home is your business,” she said, pursing her lips, “but please keep it out of the classroom.”

Kenma was sat next to his mother on a little plastic chair, swinging his legs gently while the adults talked. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong, why Ama-chan was scolding his mother, but he figured it must have been something bad. He didn’t look up from his shoes the whole time.

At home, Kenma’s mother sat him down once more and told him he had to stop trying to _make_ the colors appear.

“They’ll come on their own,” she said. “You just have to look at people normally,” she said gently. She tilted his chin up until he reluctantly raised his eyes to his mother’s face. “See? Just like this.”

Kenma averted his eyes as quickly as he could.

His mother sighed. “Do you understand, Kenma? I know it’s confusing, but do you understand that you can’t talk about this at school anymore?”

He nodded.

“You’re a good boy, Kenma. I’m sorry that this… Well, I’m sorry that this was so confusing. Now go wash up for dinner, alright? Your father will be home any minute.”

Kenma’s social experiment officially forbidden, he reverted right back to avoiding eye contact and not speaking to anyone for long periods of time. He couldn’t talk about the colors anymore, so he didn’t have much to talk about.

Kenma watched, always a keen observer, but was careful to never make eye contact with anyone. If the colors were forbidden, then there was no reason to have a Soulmate.

 

 

As he gets older, his peers are all abuzz about Soulmates. Girls bat long eyelashes, hoping to catch an eye; boys try to out-brave each other by challenging others to a staring contest.

Kenma continues to keep to himself, head down and dark bangs grown out long enough to cover his face even more. He’s never been much concerned with his appearance, because quite frankly he doesn’t even want to make eye contact with himself in a mirror.

He’s vaguely aware of some of his peers claiming they’ve met their Soulmate already. These stories, if they’re even true, are so heavily embellished that Kenma can’t even begin to take them seriously. It does nothing but convince him even further that Soulmates are a waste of time and energy.

Partially to placate his parents, partially for something to do, Kenma joins the volleyball team in his first year of middle school. He’s not really sure why he does, but he knows his parents will leave him alone if he joins a club, so he wanders around to find a club that looks minimally social but convincing enough for his parents.

He’s about to sign up for the gaming club when a boy gently waves a flier in front of his face.

“Interested in volleyball?” he asks, the grin so big on his face that Kenma can _hear_ it.

Kenma is really _not_ interested in volleyball. He’s played in gym class, and it was alright, but he has no real interest in running around and getting sweaty voluntarily.

He’s about to move away when the guy, who’s actually pretty tall, talks to him again, quieter this time. “You seem observant. Focused. Those are good traits in a volleyball player. Have you played before?”

For reasons Kenma isn’t sure of, he replies. “Only in gym class.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start! I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” he says to introduce himself. “I’m a second year middle blocker, and I’d love it if you joined our club.”

“Why?” Kenma asks, taken aback.

This guy doesn’t know him at all; it seems suspicious to Kenma that he’d be scouting someone quiet, scrawny, and not very tall to the volleyball team. Kenma carefully traces his eyes from the floor to Kuroo’s shoes, up his legs and torso quickly, finding his shoulders and picks a spot on Kuroo’s chin to look at. It’s a trick he’s picked up over the years to make people feel like he’s looking at them without him risking eye contact.

Plus, this way, he can see a little bit of Kuroo’s facial expressions and perhaps determine his sincerity.

“I told you,” Kuroo says easily, “you look like you’re in the zone. Intense eyes. We need some diversity on the team. Not everybody who plays volleyball is tall and muscular.”

Kenma feels a momentary panic when Kuroo mentions his eyes, so he looks away immediately, back down at the floor where it’s safe.

“Aren’t they?” Kenma recovers.

“Nah. It’s helpful to be tall if you’re a middle blocker like me, but liberos need to be low and agile, and setters can be any height as long as they’re good with their hands and have a good head on their shoulders. Spikers… well spikers are usually tall, but hey, believe to achieve.”

“That sounds like a lot of work.”

“Eh, I guess, but it’s fun. I’m pretty competitive, so it’s exciting to fight for points and win matches!”

Kuroo is grinning again, or perhaps he never stopped. 

Kenma is off-balance. He’s not used to having a conversation with anyone besides his parents or a teacher, but it’s more than that. Kuroo is talking to him like a normal person: no comments about how he won’t make eye contact, no jibes at his quiet demeanor. In fact, Kuroo almost seems to view these traits as a positive, somehow.

“Well, how about you take a flyer?” Kuroo suggests, extending the paper once more toward Kenma. “Come check out a practice, see if you have fun. I think you’ll like it, and I think you’d be good at it. I’ve got a good eye for these things, you know.”

“I’ll think about it,” Kenma finds himself agreeing.

“Great. I’ll see you there, first year!” Kuroo laughs.

Kenma almost asks how Kuroo knows he’s a first year, but thinks better of it. He supposes it’s pretty obvious. Kuroo moves on, looking for more potential volleyball players, and Kenma walks away from the gaming club table without picking up a form.

Sports really aren’t his thing, but he’s intrigued. Kenma’s not sure if it’s the volleyball or Kuroo himself that’s swaying his interest, but he figures it doesn’t matter. He’s joining a club to appear sociable: maybe, around Kuroo, he actually could be.

The gym is already set up for volleyball when Kenma arrives: nets are up, large baskets on wheels of balls are lined up neatly along the sidelines, and the bleachers have been pulled out for spectators.

Kenma finds a seat a few rows from the top of the bleachers so he can observe without really interacting with anyone. When he gets settled, Kuroo is already waving to him. Careful as always to not make eye contact, even from this far away, Kenma offers a weak wave back.

The coach calls to Kuroo to do something and Kuroo’s attention snaps back to the court.

Kenma watches the team do their warm ups, stretching, and a few drills. He watches Kuroo closest of all and muses that, to the untrained eye at least, he seems quite talented. Natural athleticism and height combined with skills he’s been developing for at least a year made Kuroo fun to watch. He’s flashy and a bit obnoxious, but Kenma is drawn to his energy and the focus he has for the sport.

After about an hour, the coach announces that official team practice is over for today, and that they’ll hold an open gym for anyone interested in the club but not yet a member. The team members will stay and socialize, instruct, and scout out promising players.

Kenma takes this as his cue to leave, since he doesn’t really know how to play the sport. Grabbing his bag, he tries to make a quick exit.

“Hey, wait!”

There’s no name, but somehow, Kenma knows Kuroo is talking to him. He stops, ducks his head down, and turns around.

“Aren’t you gonna give it a go?” Kuroo asks with that audible grin on his face again. His body language says _confident_ , like he knows Kenma is going to give in.

“I don’t really know how to play,” Kenma reminds him.

“That’s alright. The basics are simple enough, and you’ll pick it up in no time, I bet.”

Kenma’s upper teeth tug at a loose piece of skin on his lower lip.

“If you don’t like it after five minutes, I’ll let you leave,” Kuroo bargains.

“You’re certainly persistent,” Kenma says, and it feels like he’s giving in. 

“I told you, I’ve got a good eye for these things. C’mon, I’ll help you out.”

Reluctantly, Kenma puts his bag back on the bleachers and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, following Kuroo nervously over to the court.

“Alright, first-year, let’s just start with a basic pass. I’ll toss it up to you, and you hit it however you want back to me. Sound good?”

“Kozume,” Kenma replies.

“Eh?”

“Don’t call me first-year. My name is Kozume. Kenma,” he adds.

“Alright then, Kozume-kun. You ready?”

Kenma shrugs noncommittally and adopts a stance similar to what he saw the team doing earlier. Kuroo tosses the striped ball up in the air, and Kenma watches it carefully. It arcs pleasantly to almost exactly where he’s standing, so he puts his hands up over his head and—

The volleyball lands directly on his nose.

“Ow,” Kenma whines.

"Are you alright?" Kuroo asks while attempting not to laugh, one hand covering his mouth and the other clutching his stomach.

“I told you I’m no good at this,” Kenma complains.

“That was just your first try! Give it another go,” Kuroo urges. “Hands a little closer together, and a bit firmer. If they’re too floppy it’ll just break right through your arms and hit you.”

“You don’t say,” Kenma says dryly. 

“Here we go,” Kuroo announces, and Kenma takes up the stance again. _Why is he doing this?_ He wonders as Kuroo lobs the ball in the air.

Again, the ball arcs right over his head, but this time he puts his hands so close they’re almost touching and makes them stiff as boards. The ball lands on his hands with a _slap_ , bouncing only a few centimeters off his palms and dropping to the floor.

“That was closer!” Kuroo enthuses. “That time you were a bit _too_ stiff. When the ball hits your hands, try to push back at it. Here, actually, why don’t you toss one to me and I’ll show you what I mean.”

He tosses the ball to Kenma, who surprises himself by catching it. He spins it a bit nervously in his hands, feeling the smooth leather under his fingers. It’s not heavy, like a basketball, but it’s not soft like he thought it would be.

Keeping his eyes on the ball, he tosses it up in the air as Kuroo had done, and watches as he positions himself under the toss, hands up and waiting. He then cradles the ball in his fingertips for a split second before straightening his elbows and pushing the ball back up into the air.

Kenma watches the movement carefully, and tries to surreptitiously mimic the motion. 

The pass that Kuroo hit had gone straight up above his head, so he catches it and looks back to Kenma.

Kenma focuses his sight on the ball in Kuroo’s hands.

“Did seeing it help?” Kuroo asks.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Kenma says with an almost-smirk.

“That’s the spirit!” Kuroo laughs sincerely. “Alright, here we go. Third time’s the charm, and all that.”

Kuroo tosses he ball up and over to Kenma, and Kenma does his best to cushion the impact of the ball with his fingertips and launch the ball to Kuroo.

It makes it about halfway to him.

“Hey, there you go!” Kuroo says. “That’s what we’re looking for.”

“Sorry, I’m not very strong,” Kenma mumbles.

“That’s alright. If you join the team, you’ll get a little stronger just from drills and stuff. Plus, your technique will get better, and you won’t need so much power from your arms. There’s a whole _art_ to setting, man.”

Kenma crosses his arms self-consciously over his chest.

“Whaddya say?” Kuroo asks after a moment. “Wanna keep playing?”

Kenma considers for a moment, then nods.

There are worse decisions he could make than joining the volleyball club.

By the end of the open gym time, Kenma has got a decent set figured out, tried a couple of receives, and managed to serve the ball over the net four times.

Kuroo is thrilled with his progress, and offers him a high-five before he goes.

“So, you gonna fill out one of those club forms, Kozume-kun?”

“I guess,” Kenma says with a shrug and wiping the sweat from his brow. _Ick._

Kuroo grins. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

Kenma nods, shoulders his bag, and leaves the gym.

He takes the long way home, and when his mother asks why he’s so late, he simply says that he joined a club.

“That’s wonderful, Kenma! Which club is it? Did you meet new people? Is it interesting? Do you like the advisor?”

He fixes her chin with a glare.

“Sorry, sorry, too many questions. But which club is it?”

“Volleyball,” he says after a moment.

“Volleyball? You went out for a sports team?” she asks, surprised.

“Mm.”

“I’m… Well, I’m impressed, dear. Good for you. When you’re feeling up for it, I’d love to hear more about it.”

“I’m gonna go do some homework,” Kenma says.

“Alright, I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

“Mm.”

Kenma jogs up the stairs and closes his door. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he pulls the club form from his bag. It’s a bit crumpled, so he smooths it out before filling it in.

The form is straightforward—name, class, prior experience, height—until he gets to the last question which asks what his goal is for joining the club.

What is his goal? He doesn’t think “appeasing my parents” is a reason he should be sharing with the coach and advisor, but he also doesn’t want to lie and say something like, “to get better at volleyball.”

He eventually goes with “to learn new skills,” because maybe socializing can count as a skill, and it’s the best answer he can think of that’s still truthful.

He folds the form up and tucks it back in his bag. He doesn’t really have any homework (he finished his only assignment on his lunch break), so he pulls out his DS until his mother calls him down.

She asks him about volleyball again, and he answers in the shortest way possible.

He doesn’t mention that he may have made a sort of friend.

Not yet.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo is a very understanding extrovert.

Kenma goes to volleyball practices every day. A few other first years have joined the team have a lot more experience than he does, particularly the energetic boy with a blond mohawk.

Kenma participates in drills with the other beginners, running and getting sweaty. He’s not with Kuroo for most of the drills, since they’re split up by level. Whenever the whole club comes together, though, Kuroo bounds up to Kenma and insists that they stand in the receiving line next to each other.

The older boy calls out encouragement and cheers every time it’s Kenma’s turn. Kenma can’t decide if it’s _actually_ motivational or if it’s just embarrassing.

To his relief, the coach selects Kenma as a potential setter for the team (as Kuroo had predicted), so he gets out of the exhaustion of spiking drills, instead practicing his tosses with the other potential setters, as well as the team’s current setter, a lanky third year with fierce eyes and a penchant for yelling at his kouhais.

After three weeks, Kenma has more or less adjusted to the added physical strain on his body, though he still gets sleepy earlier than he’s used to. He goes to bed earlier, has a harder time getting up in the morning, and all in all feels like he doesn’t have much free time once he’s done with practice and homework.

He’s moping a bit in the clubroom, when Kuroo comes over to him, slapping a hand down on his shoulder.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Kuroo asks.

Kenma scrunches his nose at the nickname.

“No buttercup?”

Kenma shakes his head quickly and Kuroo laughs. He has a nice laugh, Kenma thinks. Friendly and open with just a little bit of mischief hidden in it.

“Anyway, it’s the weekend, and I think we should hang out.”

Kenma shrugs.

“This is the part where you say, ‘Gee, Kuroo-kun! That sounds like sooo much fun! You can come over to my house and we’ll play video games and eat snacks!’”

“When have I ever called you ‘Kuroo-kun’?” Kenma deadpans.

“Right now,” Kuroo says easily. “So am I invited?”

“You actually want to come over to my house?” Kenma clarifies, peering up at Kuroo through his dark bangs. He fixes his vision firmly on Kuroo’s chin.

“Yeah, why not? We’re friends, so we should hang out, and not just during volleyball practice.”

 _Are they friends?_ Kenma wonders. Kuroo certainly seems to be fairly interested in Kenma; and Kenma thinks Kuroo is interesting and funny. He guesses that makes them friends. Plus, of everyone who has ever tried to get close to him, Kuroo has never once asked him about his complete aversion to eye contact. It feels like Kuroo just _understands_ why Kenma doesn’t want to look anyone in the eye. He doesn’t feel compelled to explain to Kuroo why he never wants to find his Soulmate.

“Alright,” Kenma agrees.

“Cool,” Kuroo says. “Wait for me after practice, yeah? I have to talk to coach for a few minutes.”

Practice goes much the same as usual. Kenma and the official team setter, Tajima, practice together on tosses (the other hopefuls have all been slotted into other positions by now), they do receives and conditioning training, they run the plays that Kenma memorized last week, and then Coach dismisses them for the weekend.

As Kenma grabs his water bottle from the bench, Kuroo calls out to him. “Wait for me, Kozume!”

Kenma gives a gentle wave to indicate that he heard and headed into the club room.

By the time he’s showered and changed, Kuroo still isn’t back, so he pulls out his Gameboy. It feels like forever since he last booted it up, and he’s glad he has a moment to himself.

His mother has texted him something, but he ignores it. She’d call if it was important, so he figures it can wait. The rest of the team has cleared out, so Kenma is content to just play his game in quiet.

Finally, Kuroo bursts through the clubroom door, a sour expression on his face.

“Augh!” he exclaims. “Whatever.”

“Everything okay?” Kenma asks.

“Eh, not really, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. Let me shower and we’ll get going?” he says, suddenly chipper again.

“Mm,” Kenma agrees. He’s curious what Kuroo talked to Coach about, but Kuroo would tell him if he wants him to know, right?

Kuroo finishes his shower, Kenma saves his game, and they walk toward his house in silence.

Normally, people try to fill in the gaping silence that Kenma leaves, but Kuroo doesn’t. He wonders if it’s due to whatever Kuroo talked to the coach about or if Kuroo simply accepts the silence.

When Kenma turns onto his street, Kuroo perks up a bit.

“You live near here?” Kuroo asks.

“Yeah,” Kenma says.

“Dude, we’re neighbors! I’m like, two blocks that way,” he says with a gesture.

“Oh,” is all Kenma says. He fishes his house key out of a pocket, and is about to wiggle it into the lock when his mother opens the door.

“Kenma, there you are!” she says. “Didn’t you see my text? We’ve been waiting for—Hello,” she says, suddenly noticing Kuroo.

“Hello, Kozume-san,” Kuroo says politely. “Kuroo Tetsurou. Your son invited me over today--”

“He invited himself,” Kenma mumbles, interrupting.

“--If that’s alright?” Kuroo finishes.

Kenma’s mother seems flustered. “Well, Kenma was _supposed_ to help me move furniture before our guests get here,” she says pointedly, glaring at her son with a raised eyebrow.

“If you don’t mind, I can help you out. It’s my fault he’s late, and I’m strong. It’s the least I can do.”

“That would be very much appreciated, Kuroo-kun,” she says. “We just have to move the couch and armchairs, so there’s room for the dining room table.”

Kuroo looks at her a moment, confused. “That dining room table?” he asks, pointing.

“Yes, but, we need to pull the leaves out,” she explains.

“Leaves? Like a tree?” Kuroo asks, confused.

“No, no,” she smiles. “They’re sort of like extensions for the table so there’s enough space for all our guests.”

When they’re done moving furniture, Kenma tries to drag Kuroo off to his room in a clear attempt to avoid his mother.

“Not so fast, Kenma,” she says. “Kuroo-kun, will you be staying for dinner? I’m already cooking for seven; no harm in adding one more.”

“I don’t want to impose on you,” Kuroo says politely.

“Kenma always takes his dinner in his room when we have friends over; you’re welcome to do the same.”

“If you’re sure it’s not too troublesome,” he grins.

“None at all,” she assures him. “Alright, you can scamper off to your room now,” she says in turning toward her son once more. “I’ll bring your plates up when it’s ready.”

“Thanks,” Kenma says quietly before turning tail up the stairs to his room.

“Your mom is nice,” Kuroo says when they’re in Kenma’s room.

“Yeah,” he says.

“So, what are we gonna do? Looks like you have quite a few gaming systems there; got any Mario Kart?”

“Nope,” Kenma says with a shake of his head. He scans the shelf of his games, staring at the titles as though they hold the secrets of the universe.

Finally, he selects Legend of Zelda off the shelf and jams the cartridge in the console.

“Don’t you want to play a multi-player game?” Kuroo asks gently. “It won’t be as much fun if I just watch you play through.”

“I don’t have multi-player games,” he says. “Never really had friends to play with, and CPU’s are boring.”

“None?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma’s not sure if he’s asking about the games or the friends. The answer is the same either way, he supposes.

“Never had much interest,” he says as casually as he can manage. “Anyway, I’ll watch you, I guess. You’re my guest, after all.”

“Wait,” Kuroo says with a mischievous grin. “I have an idea.”

The game boots up, and the music starts playing. Kenma selects an old save that he thinks is at a decently interesting save point. Looks like he left off inside Jabu-Jabu’s belly.

He holds out the controller to Kuroo, who shakes him off.

“You take the controller,” Kuroo instructs, “but keep your eyes closed. I’ll tell you which keys to push.”

“That’s not going to work very well. The delay will be too long.”

“That’s the fun!” Kuroo says. “C’mon, humor me. If it doesn’t work, we’ll do something else.”

Kenma sighs, but closes his eyes anyway.

“Alright, go forward,” Kuroo instructs.

They play this way for nearly half an hour, when a soft knock at Kenma’s door makes him pause instinctively right as Kuroo is screaming at him to _Z-target and attack!_

“Dinner’s ready, boys,” Kenma’s mother says.

“Thank you, Kozume-san,” Kuroo says. “It smells wonderful.”

“I hope it tastes as good then,” she says graciously. “We’ll be busy with our guests until pretty late, so I just wanted to say now that if Kuroo-kun wants to stay over, he’s very welcome. Just tell your parents where you are.”

Kenma can feel Kuroo’s gaze on him, like Kuroo’s trying to read his face. Kenma makes his expression as blank as he can, but the blush on his neck is giving him away for sure.

“I have to get up very early tomorrow, so I won’t be able to stay the night,” Kuroo says, and Kenma’s shocked at how relieved he is. This is the first time Kuroo’s been over—the first time _anyone’s_ been over—and he doesn’t think he can keep up this much socializing for a whole sleepover. Maybe the extra scrutiny had been worth it, if Kuroo could read Kenma’s mood from it.

“Okay, then. I have to get back to our friends, but do say goodbye before you leave, Kuroo-kun!”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

It becomes a regular thing, Kuroo inviting himself over to Kenma’s home. Through their afternoons spent together, Kuroo meets Kenma’s father as well as various dinner guests over the next year of their friendship.

A small collection of Kuroo’s own games—all multiplayer—make their way over to Kenma’s shelves, along with a second controller.

Kenma never has to tell him if he’s up for Kuroo staying the night; Kuroo always figures it out himself, and always frames it so it never sounds like Kenma’s fault.

Kenma supposes it’s not really his fault. There’s nothing wrong with being introverted, at least, that’s what his mother tells him. Kuroo makes him feel like it really might be okay.

The other guys on the team are tolerable, but Kenma doesn’t even pretend to consider them friends. It’s a work relationship in his mind. Tajima is basically his coach, or maybe his boss, and everyone else is simply “teammates.”

Over the course of Kenma’s first year, volleyball also becomes tolerable. He’s not sure he would ever describe running around and getting sweaty as “fun,” but with Kuroo there, it’s not too bad.

Right after the third years graduate, Kuroo invites himself over as usual. What’s not usual is that he asks permission before simply following Kenma home like always. (Kenma’s started waiting for him, since he’ll inevitably catch up, anway.)

Kenma squints at Kuroo, staring squarely at his chin—never anywhere else—but shrugs and says, “Don’t you always?”

Kuroo greets Kenma’s mother and father as they come inside, and they ask after his parents, his grades, and the team.

“Kenma doesn’t tell us much about the club,” Kenma’s dad says. “We need you to fill us in every now and then!”

Kuroo laughs and tells them about what kind of shape the team is in now that the third years are gone.

“Coach asked me formally today to be the captain,” Kuroo says, trying and failing to be modest.

“You’ll be a wonderful captain, Tetsurou-kun,” his mother says. “Don’t you think so, Kenma?”

“He was already vice-captain,” Kenma shrugs. “Isn’t it kind of the same thing?”

“Well, not quite,” Kuroo says a bit stiffly. He explains the difference in responsibilities. That’s when Kenma starts to really notice how nervous Kuroo seems.

His mother, perceptive as ever, picks up on the shift, too. “I think I’d better start on dinner,” she says, quietly excusing herself. “Would you give me a hand with the vegetables, dear?”

“Of course,” Kenma’s father says. He ruffles Kenma’s hair on his way out of the sitting room, leaving the boys by themselves.

“Kozume,” Kuroo begins, “I um… Coach asked me to select a vice-captain for the upcoming year…”

Kenma’s eyes bulge. _Surely Kuroo isn’t thinking…?_

“Would you be my vice-captain?”

“No.”

Kuroo falters. “O-oh. That was fast. Will you hear me out? Why I want it to be you?”

“Kuroo, there’s no reason for it to be me. Don’t be stupid. I don’t have the knowledge, the skills, I barely speak to anyone else on the team,” Kenma says plainly. “Those aren’t the qualities of a vice-captain.”

“But—“

“Please, Kuroo. Pick someone else. Anyone else. What about Yamamoto? He’s certainly charismatic.”

“Yamamoto is too much like me. I want someone different, with a different approach, to even us out.”

“I’m sorry, Kuroo, but I can’t do it.”

“Kozume—“

“No.”

“ _Kenma_ —“ Kuroo implores.

“ _No._ ”

“Fine. I guess it was a long shot, anyway. But, um… can I ask you one more thing?”

Kenma sighs. “What is it?”

“Can I call you Kenma?”

Kenma freezes. No one but his parents call him Kenma; it’s always felt very personal. But he and Kuroo are friends. They’re with each other near constantly, given that they’re in different years.

He nods. “Yes,” he says. “But I don’t think I can call you by your given name…”

“That’s okay. I just… You’re my best friend. I wanted to, um, call you something besides your family name.”

Kenma nods again, unsure of what else to say.

“Hey, wanna go play some video games, Kenma?” Kuroo asks, breaking the tension.

“Sounds good,” Kenma says, blushing at his given name coming from Kuroo.

 _You’re my best friend,_ Kuroo had said.

 _You’re my best friend, too,_ Kenma thinks. He’s not ready to say it out loud.

Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate punny title for this fic: hue knew?


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing pains.

In his second year, Kenma becomes the starting setter. At first he thinks it’s more or less by default, since  Tajima-senpai graduated, but when a first-year setter shows up, Coach still puts him with the first string players. The first year has prior experience playing volleyball, but Kuroo says that Kenma’s game-sense is better.

“I haven’t even played in any games,” he says. “How do I have any ‘game-sense’?”

“You’ve got a good mind for the game, I mean. You’re patient and observant. You adjust your tosses to each spiker. You deserve the starting spot,” Kuroo says, though Kenma never voiced his concerns over his lack of qualification.

“Thanks, Kuroo,” he says.

“You’ve got the brain, I’ve got the brawn… I’d say we make a pretty good combo,” Kuroo teases, but he bumps his shoulder into Kenma gently to acknowledge the thanks.

Kenma has mostly gotten used to Kuroo reading him, but it’s still a bit new, and the rush of relief is strong when Kuroo apparently flawlessly interprets his mood and navigates it on Kenma’s behalf.

 

Kenma’s first game as official setter for their junior high team has a rough start.

He’s nervous, that much is obvious, but Coach doesn’t quite understand _why_ Kenma’s nervous.

“It’s a high stakes position,” Coach says after he’s forced to take a time-out. “But we put you in the starting spot because you’re smart. You just read this game like you do in practice and the rest of the team will do their jobs, too.”

It’s not the pressure of the game that’s getting to Kenma, though. He wants to tell Coach that he doesn’t care about their opponents, doesn’t care about the “high stakes” of the match. But he can’t, or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

Either way, he’s not going to say a thing, and his nerves are just going to keep snowballing and take him over and—

“Kenma,” Kuroo says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Just like you read us, we all read you. I know there’s some spikers that you’re not used to yet, but all you have to do is meet them halfway. We’re all connected. You’re the brain, and we’re you’re limbs: connect.”

Kuroo—his best friend, Kuroo—is nowhere near as dull as he pretends.

Kenma honestly doesn’t care much about the results of the match, but he’s afraid of the fragile balance of the team resting on his ability to read the court and toss. He doesn’t really socialize with anyone else, but that doesn’t mean he’s not worried about their ire if he messes up too much.

Without a word, Kuroo had picked up on Kenma’s social anxieties, and knew what to say to quell the nerves.

“We trust you,” Kuroo says gently. “We support you. So be our brain, and we’ll be your brawn.”

Kenma smiles weakly at the last comment, remembering when Kuroo had called himself the brawn. By extending it to the rest of the team, Kenma already felt more connected. If the rest of the team was like Kuroo, he could do this. Kuroo would never be disappointed in his tosses.

Though they lose the first set, it’s not by much, and they come back to win the second and third sets much more easily.

Kenma thinks volleyball might just be alright.

 

When Kuroo graduates, Kenma thinks that volleyball might actually be the worst thing to ever happen to him.

His new captain is not so understanding of Kenma, and he pushes the coach to give the younger setter more playing time.

Kenma finds he’s angry at first, but then decides that it doesn’t matter. He hates volleyball, anyway. It’s no use without Kuroo here; it’ll never be more than a chore. Why is he still doing this?

Kuroo still comes over after school, though not as often, since Nekoma High School’s volleyball club is more intense than in middle school.

“You’re thinking of quitting, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks one day. He’s lying on his back on Kenma’s bed, tossing a volleyball in the air while Kenma plays something with tinny music on his DS.

“Maybe,” Kenma says after a moment.

“I… I really want to play with you in high school. I want to be on your team again,” Kuroo says. “So please don’t quit. I know it’s selfish, but—“

“It’s okay,” Kenma interrupts. “I don’t mind playing with you, but I don’t think the rest of the team likes me very much. It’s… hard. To keep playing.”

“I know, I know, but you’re… you’re honestly a really good setter, and I don’t want you to keep playing just because you’re my best friend and I want you on my team. I want you to keep playing because you’re good and because you like it, and I think you’ll continue to grow and become stronger and sharper. You’ll be an asset to any team you play for.”

“You’re too much, sometimes,” Kenma mumbles. He doesn’t think he’s actually very good at volleyball skills-wise, but Kuroo is trying really hard to keep Kenma on the team.

He’ll tough it out at least a little longer.

 

“Hey, Kenma!” Yamamoto calls.

Ever since Kuroo started calling him Kenma, the rest of the team started doing it too. At first, it felt like something precious was taken from him—from Kuroo. But when he thinks about it, maybe all this politeness and hierarchy is silly. He decides that, unless anyone objects too strongly, he’ll start calling all his teammates by their given names.

Most of them just write it off as a “Kenma-thing,” like not looking anyone even remotely in the face and the almost eerie way he reads a volleyball match.

Plus, now that he’s a third year, he thinks maybe he doesn’t care so much what others think of him… Maybe.

“What is it, Tora?” he asks.

Yamamoto is friends with Kuroo, too, so in that respect, he thinks Yamamoto is probably alright. But he’s also intensely extroverted, and he feels _very_ strongly about making eye-contact… with everyone.

“Coach wants you to join us for receiving practice today.”

Kenma scrunches his nose. “Why?”

“Something about ‘versatility,’” Yamamoto says, waving his hand dismissively. He’s vice-captain this year, though privately Kenma thinks he would make a better captain than the obnoxious, full of bravado boy that quite frankly isn’t very skilled for all his talk.

“I thought the setter wasn’t supposed to receive,” Kenma grumbles, but joins Yamamoto anyway.

Receiving drills are boring and it stings Kenma’s forearms because he’s not used to it, and he’s glad that practice is over afterwards.

In the clubroom, Yamamoto asks Kenma how he thinks their quick sets are going, and if he’s studied for the Japanese History test they have coming up.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Kenma says by way of answering.

“Do what?” Yamamoto asks.

“Make small talk. Try to be friendly.”

“But I want to!” Yamamoto exclaims. “You’re a cool guy, Kenma. Of course I want to talk and hang out with you, even if you won’t look at me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Kenma says. “I won’t look at anyone.”

“Do you look at Kuroo?” Yamamoto blurts, quickly slapping a palm over his mouth.

Kenma furrows his brow at the floor. “Why would I look at Kuroo?”

“Never mind,” Yamamoto says, a blush on his cheeks. “How is Kuroo, anyway? I know you guys still hang out.”

“Look, Tora,” Kenma says, shaking his bangs over his face a bit more, “I know you’re trying to keep tabs on me for Kuroo, but I can look after myself. You don’t have to pretend to be friendly.”

Yamamoto sighs. “I’m not pretending, first of all. And secondly, he’s really worried about you, y’know? He’s worried about all the stuff you won’t talk to him about, and he can’t watch you like he used to, to make sure you’re doing okay in school and volleyball.”

“I can look after myself,” Kenma says, a little harsher this time. He zips his gym bag up aggressively and stalks out of the clubroom.

“Three more months,” he mutters to himself. “Just three more months…”

 

Those three months drag by, but he finally graduates middle school and enters Nekoma High School with freshly dyed hair. He’s not really sure what color it is, though the box had said “Light Golden Blonde,” but he wanted to try it. If nothing else, it’s lighter now, less harsh than his naturally dark hair.

His fascination with color is still there, though he’s careful to hide it. A couple of weeks ago, he went to an art store and bought colored pencils. He’s been keeping a sketch book since he was eleven, but lately the anxiety in his stomach about high school and eye contact (Yamamoto really is too familiar with everyone, Kenma thinks) has gotten strong enough.

The colors all have strange names: red, orange, violet, and green… They all look pretty similar to Kenma’s greyscale vision, but he likes the way they feel on the page and the variation they offer from the monotone of graphite.

He and Kuroo can walk to school together again, and Kenma has to admit he’s missed it. Kuroo has a quiet way of talking in the mornings, not really trying to engage Kenma in a conversation he knows he won’t participate in, but just sharing little thoughts and observations. They range from volleyball to the bento his mother packed him today to whether grammar is an oppressive power structure. (This last was mostly influenced by Kuroo completely tanking on an English quiz.)

They’re at their shoe lockers when Yamamoto comes up noisily and sticks his face in front of Kenma’s.

“Boo!” he says with a laugh, though Kenma has scrunched his eyes shut tight and turned away from him.

“Hey, come on, dude, not in his face. You know Kenma doesn’t like it,” Kuroo says immediately. He locks eyes with Yamamoto, and Kenma can feel the tension between the two of them.

Kuroo doesn’t make eye contact as willy-nilly as Yamamoto does, but when he does it’s always intense, calculating, and serious. Kenma suppresses a shiver and is just glad that glare will never be focused on him.

“Sorry, Kenma,” Yamamoto says, blinking away from Kuroo’s gaze.

Kenma wonders how Kuroo can do it: staring people down, looking right into their souls… What if he finds his Soulmate? What if he leaves Kenma behind?

Kenma shakes his head. There’s no use thinking like that. Kenma can’t control who Kuroo is destined to be with any more than he can control the weather.

And he really wishes he could control this awful and cold drizzle that’s been coming down for the past two days.

“It’s okay, Tora,” Kenma says after a moment.

“Anyway, I saw you and I thought we could all go to volleyball together!” Yamamoto exclaims. “You’re still gonna play, right Kenma?”

Kuroo freezes like the thought that Kenma would stop in high school had never occurred to him.

“Of course I’m still going to play,” Kenma says, and Kuroo lets out a huge sigh of relief. “I would’ve quit third year of junior high if I wasn’t planning on playing in high school. Besides, Kuroo would be upset if I quit.”

“I mean, yeah I would be sad, but… you don’t just play volleyball because of me, do you?” Kuroo asks.

“Kind of,” Kenma admits after a moment.

“I think I’m quite flattered,” Kuroo preens. “But I hope one day you’ll play just because it’s fun, not because I dragged you into it.”

“I don’t mind,” Kenma says seriously. Kuroo’s the first and only person he really considers a friend. If he has to play volleyball in exchange for deliverance from complete social isolation, he’ll do it. It’s not that Kenma dislikes volleyball, it’s just that he prefers video games and drawing and re-watching Fullmetal Alchemist.

“Well, still. I want you to have fun, not just put up with it.” They walk quietly for a moment before arriving at the gym.

A few of their senpais are already there, and Kuroo waves to a teammate. “Come on, I’ll introduce you, my darling kouhai,” Kuroo says, making to ruffle Kenma’s hair.

“Don’t,” Kenma whines.

“Hey, am I not your darling kouhai?” Yamamoto pouts.

“You’re my… energetic kouhai,” Kuroo suggests.

“That’s not nearly as cute,” Yamamoto says, but he follows Kuroo over to the others anyway.

“So we got our second years Kai Nobuyuki, wing spiker, and Morisuke Yaku, libero,” Kuroo says, and each one nods or waves in turn. “And this is Fukunaga Shouhei, another wing spiker, and a first year like you guys.

“These are the guys I played with in middle school that I was telling you about,” he continues, now turning to the other second years. “This is Yamamoto Taketora, who was our ace, and this”—he puts his hands on Kenma’s narrow shoulders—“is Kozume Kenma, one of the best setters I’ve had the pleasure of playing with,” Kuroo beams.

“He’s only played with like, three setters,” Kenma mumbles bashfully.

“Not true! I’ve played with like, six! And you’re the best,” he repeats.

Kenma feels a blush rising and he’s glad his long hair covers the red creeping up his neck.

 

Now that he’s a second year, Kuroo has finally made the starting rotation. He’s as charismatic as ever, but he doesn’t carry quite as much clout as Kenma is used to seeing him hold. The third years make practices rough, and the coach encourages the intense workouts.

Kenma hates it.

There are two third-year setters, so Kenma knows he’ll never get game time. He is reduce to a ball-boy, and errand runner, and general lackey. He is criticized for his apparent laziness, and made to do extra conditioning to strengthen up his scrawny body.

He’s picking at the plastic casing at the end of his shoelaces one day, sitting on the bench during a practice match, when Kuroo flops down next to him after being subbed out.

“Hey, Kenma,” he says, breathing heavy.

“Mm,” Kenma says by way of reply.

“Are you paying attention to the game?” Kuroo asks quietly. “You know coach will want to quiz you about play selection and stuff afterwards.”

“What does it matter? I’m never going to start,” Kenma spits, and he’s a little shocked at the venom that accompanies his comment.

To his further surprise, Kuroo breaks into a full-face smirk. “Are you getting fired up, Kenma?”

“What?” Kenma says, looking up to face Kuroo a bit, gaze fixed on his chin.

“You really want to play, don’t you?” Kuroo says. “You’re upset that you’re working so hard and you’re not getting game time for it.”

“I don’t actually care,” Kenma says, but it feels like a lie even to him.

“I know it seems rough, but everyone else—the first and second years—we all know how amazing you are. You’ll get your chance just as soon as the third years are gone, I promise. You’re way better than Nakano even though he’s older. Coach will have to pick you next year.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kenma says with even less conviction.

“Your strength is your brain,” Kuroo continues in a hushed voice, and the sounds of the practice match have all but faded out of Kenma’s hearing. “Your mind is so much more valuable than perfect form could ever be. You train hard to get the physical side there…”

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the match, Kuroo?” Kenma teases when his friend’s speech fades out.

“I am,” he says, straightening his back up now that he doesn’t need to practically whisper into Kenma’s ear. “Totally watching.”

“I won’t quit,” Kenma says quietly after a moment. “I’ll stay with you.”

Kuroo’s smile breaks fast and wide across his face again, and this time, it’s not a smirk but rather a grin of pure delight.

 

 

Kuroo’s prediction was right, and second year finds Kenma as the starting setter. The other setter in his year decides not to come back to the club after sitting the bench so much, and that suits Kenma just fine.

He was too loud, anyway.

Kuroo is once again captain of their team, and Kenma is quietly very proud of him. Kuroo is a natural leader, he thinks, and as embarrassing as his speeches are, Kenma really does see him as the heart that pumps the blood to the rest of the body.  

Everyone is just so drawn to him, so magnetized to his leadership and humor and power. Though Kuroo's friend circle has expanded, including people like the noisy owl boy from Fukurodani, but Kenma never feels like Kuroo is slipping away from him. They are as close as ever, and Kenma feels content and safe knowing that Kuroo will always be his friend.

They’ve traveled to Miyagi for a practice match against a school that used to be Nekoma’s rival: Karasuno, Kenma thinks. He’s sitting on a low brick wall, bag at his feet and DS in hand, and he’s a bit lost but he’s texted Kuroo, so he knows he’ll be picked up soon.

Suddenly, a very excited boy, who at first glance Kenma thinks must be about twelve, wheels into Kenma’s vision.

“What’re you doing?” he calls out.

 _Geh,_ thinks Kenma. Conversing with strangers ranks right up there with dentist visits, Kenma thinks.

“Erm… Uh… Got lost?” Kenma says weakly.

“Eh? You came from a different part of Japan?” the boy asks.

“Yeah,” Kenma says, eyes fixed on his game still.

“Is that fun?” The boy asks, crouching down next to him. Kenma’s starting to get nervous.

“Er, um… This… not really…” Kenma says, and he shakes his head. “It’s just a way to kill time…” _Until Kuroo gets here… Come on, Kuroo. Come pick me up._

The boy hums to himself a moment before jumping to his feet with an “AH!”

Kenma startles, and the boy shuffles his feet a bit. “Do you play volleyball?”

Kenma nods.

“I’m in a volleyball club, too!” he continues, steamrolling over the silence. “I’m Hinata Shouyou.”

 “…Kozume,” Kenma finally says, though it’s muffled through his jacket.

“Kozume? That’s your name?”

“Kozume… Kenma,” he says, the syllables thick and foreign feeling.

“So your name’s Kenma! Are you in high school?”

Kenma has barely replied with a quiet ‘yeah’ when Hinata continues, “What year? I’m a first year!”

“Second,” he replies. Hinata’s posture straightens up immediately.

“Crap! You’re my senpai! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Kenma says. His voice is still tight from the anxiety of his encounter, but he’s trying. Something about Shouyou is very calming, he thinks. “Stuff like that, the sort of hierarchy of sports… I don’t really like it.”

“Ah,” Hinata says, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “Um… do you like volleyball?”

 _Why is he still talking to me?_ Kenma wonders.

“Not really,” Kenma says. “I don’t dislike it, but… I don’t like getting worn out.”

 _And why am I still talking to him?_ Kenma wonders even more.

“My friends play,” he continues despite his confusion, not entirely sure why he’s using the plural unless you count Yamamoto, “and I guess they’d have a hard time without me.”

“I think you’ll have more fun if you come to like it,” Hinata says.

“It’s fine, it’s just for high school.”

“So, what position are you?”

“Setter,” Kenma replies.

“Whoa, really? You’re completely different form our setter!” and the boy launches into a strange explanation with more onomatopoeia and vague gesturing than actual Japanese.

“By the way, I’m a middle blocker!” he says, mimicking the blocking position. “It’s really weird, don’t you think? Middle blocker is a position played by tall guys, after all.”

Kenma is honestly not sure what to do. This boy is completely ignoring social graces—which Kenma does regularly, he supposes—but in a horribly sunny way.

“Yeah, well that’s true, but… not really,” Kenma says. Who is he to judge if this short kid is a middle blocker? Plenty of people doubt him as a setter, because the setter is supposed to be the player with the highest ability or something, and Kenma really isn’t a sports person.

When the boy is quiet for too long, Kenma looks up to see what’s wrong: Hinata has barely stopped talking the entire time he’s been standing here, so something must be—

Kenma looks up too fast, expecting someone taller or something, and he doesn’t do his usual sweeping gaze up the arm to find a safe place to look at.

 Their eyes meet, and Kenma’s heart _stops_.

Shouyou is seemingly unfazed by their gazes meeting, but Kenma is petrified. Shouyou is rambling on and on, Kenma has no idea what he’s saying, doesn’t care, because he’s _making eye-contact._

Finally, the boy seems to register Kenma’s terror, because he’s gotten quieter and he’s peering at Kenma asking repeatedly if he’s okay.  

Kenma buries his face in his warm-up jacket. _What has he done?_

Kenma hasn’t made eye contact with anyone for ten years. He knows about soulmates, knows about the colors, but he doesn’t know how you _know_ if it’s happened. What if he just ruined everything because this crazy stranger?

“Hey, is this about the eye contact thing? Because I was staring at you?”

 _How could he tell?_ Kenma wonders, but doesn’t emerge from his sweatshirt.

“Crap, Kageyama is always telling me I’m too over-bearing.”

Kenma can feel his limbs trembling, but like hell is he moving. _Come on Kuroo,_ he pleads mentally. _Save me._

“Hey, it’s okay!” the boy says. “I already met my Soulmate.”

A sigh of relief rushes out of Kenma’s lungs so fast he thinks he might faint.

“He’s kind of a jerk, but he told me that we’ll be unstoppable together, and so far I believe it.” He pauses. “Hey, I like your hair.”

“What?” Kenma asks, hand lifting to touch at it, thrown off by the strange segue.

“It’s like, dyed yellow. Well, I guess that’s called blond when it’s hair? Why’d you dye it if you can’t see colors?”

Kenma doesn’t think he really wants to try to explain to this stranger why he thought bleaching his hair would be a good idea, but he feels pinned by that gaze, even though he’s no longer meeting it.

“Kenma!” Kuroo’s familiar voice rings out, and Kenma could not be more relieved. He feels like he’s deflating from the tension that had been building up inside.

“Ah, it’s Kuroo,” Kenma says, voice tight. “Until next time, Shouyou,” he says distractedly and gathers his things to join Kuroo.

“Don’t go wandering off on your own,” Kuroo scolds lightly. Then, he realizes something is off. “Hey, what happened back there?”

“I…” Kenma starts, his voice cracking. _No, please don’t cry,_ he begs himself.

Kuroo stops walking.

“Kenma?” he asks gently.

“I don’t know how it happened, it was totally on accident, and then I panicked, and—“

“What happened, Kenma?” The concern rings in Kuroo’s voice, and he feels his heart breaking. He’s scaring his friend, he has to say it, has to tell him that it’s okay, it’s okay because nothing bad happened and Kuroo is here now to protect him from overly enthusiastic eye-contact seekers.

“I… We made eye-contact. Shouyou and I… I looked him in the eye.”

Kuroo doesn’t react.

This makes Kenma even more nervous.

“He says he’s already met his Soulmate, and he apologized, but it was just… kind of scary? But I’m okay now, I prom—“

His words are cut off by Kuroo crushing him in for a hug.

He strokes Kenma’s hair, rubs soothing circles into his back.

“Are you feeling okay?” Kuroo asks after a couple minutes.

“Better,” Kenma says truthfully. “Since you’re here.”

For now, he doesn’t want to think about it. They have a practice match, and for once, he thinks he might be truly looking forward to a volleyball game.  

 

After the practice match, Kenma stares wistfully out the window of the bus. He can’t stop thinking about those eyes—so wide and open and _terrifying_ —and he knows he should talk to Kuroo about it, but wouldn’t that just bring up the one subject that’s always been mutually avoided?

In the years that Kenma has known Kuroo, they have never once talked about Kenma’s fear of eye-contact.

Kuroo has never asked, never been offended, and at least in front of Kenma, has never worried about it, unless it is to get others to back off from Kenma.

They’re best friends, but they’ve never looked each other in the eye: they don’t _need_ to look each other in the eye, because the only thing that eye-contact does is induce anxiety. Kuroo’s his friend, so of course he would never want that.

But now, after a decade of no eye-contact with anyone, Kenma does it with a _stranger_ —granted, one that he somehow befriended and exchanged numbers with in a single afternoon—but it feels so _big_ and forbidden and _wrong_ that Kenma can’t stop thinking about it.

Kuroo is flipping through music on his phone next to him, which Kenma judges as not very important, so he leans over onto his friend’s shoulder and says quietly, “Kuroo.”

Kuroo puts his phone in his lap, slouches a little in his seat to accommodate Kenma.

“Kenma,” he replies in kind.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he says.

“That’s understandable,” Kuroo says carefully. “Do you want to talk about it some more?”

“What’s it like?” Kenma asks, his voice low and scared like a child asking a parent to check for monsters under the bed. “You make eye contact with a lot of people. What does it feel like for you?”

“Sorry, I’m not sure how to describe it,” he says. “What kind of answer are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Just… is it scary? Do their eyes always look weird? What do you feel?”

“Well, everyone’s eyes are different.  Some peoples’ are dark, others are light—I hear they’re different colors, but of course who knows what that means—some are wide and some are small, some are mean, some are open and kind. It depends on a lot of things, just like… body language! You don’t watch faces much, but whole body language. It’s like that, except more concentrated, and if you’re not used to it, takes a bit to figure out what the different eyes mean.”

“Different eyes?” Kenma asks, jerking his head off of Kuroo’s shoulder in mild horror. He’s imagining people exchanging eyeballs, swapping them out when they grow tired of the old ones or something.

“No, no!” Kuroo says, trying to diffuse the situation. “I mean, like, different expressions! Like smiles or frowns, but for eyes.”

“Oh,” Kenma says, feeling a bit stupid.

“I don’t think eye-contact in itself is scary,” Kuroo continues. “It’s mostly things _associated_ with eye-contact that can be daunting.”

 _Like Soulmates and colors,_ Kenma thinks.

“Kenma, I know we’ve never talked about this and you are totally allowed to not reply, but… do you want to find your Soulmate?”

As soon as the question registers, Kenma’s mind is equal parts screaming “yes!” and “no!”. He doesn’t know which one to listen to.

On one hand, he desperately wants to see in color: what do his colored pencils look like? Are they as beautiful as they feel? What _does_ his hair look like? What color is Kuroo’s hair? Kenma craves the promise of life and creativity and _art_ inherent in the mystery of colors.

But the flip side is having a Soulmate, someone to whom you are bonded for _life_ , another person you’re expected to share your experiences and thoughts and _love_ with. And that is something Kenma is sure that he doesn’t want. No, it’s beyond that: he knows he couldn’t handle it, the very knowledge that a person could be _his_ Soulmate sends shivers down his spine, makes his stomach turn sour. It scares him more than he can put into words.

When he chokes down the fear, Kenma realizes he feels pity: pity for whoever out there has been cursed to be his Soulmate, because they will never make eye contact if Kenma has anything to say about it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, finally answering Kuroo’s question. Though Kenma knows Kuroo probably wants to argue that it _does_ matter, his tone is clear.

Kenma is done talking about it. And after the terror of today’s eye-contact, Kenma vows to redouble his efforts to avoid the gaze of anyone, strangers or not.

 

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The turning point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright kids, here's where the good stuff happens ;)

Avoiding eye contact becomes Kenma’s Goal Number One. He has always been careful, avoidant, withdrawn, but the accidental encounter with Shouyou has him paranoid to the point where he can barely focus on anything but eschewing curious eyes.

 _Those big, round eyes_ …

Kuroo notices something is wrong, of course, since even Kenma knows he’s acting far too skittish, but he refrains from commenting. He always assumes the best of Kenma, and probably thinks this is one of those ‘he’ll talk to me when he’s ready’ moments.

Kenma doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.

A week after the Accidental Staredown, as Kenma has begun to call it, he has gotten himself so worked up that he can’t even eat and sleep properly anymore. He can see Kuroo’s resolve to let Kenma broach the topic wavering, can practically _feel_ the concern from his best friend.

 _Great, now I can add guilt to my pile of anxiety_ , Kenma grumbles to himself. He needs to just bite the bullet and talk to Kuroo about it, but he’s scared even of that.

So he continues to avoid the subject with Kuroo, but vows to do _something_.

He decides to text Shouyou.

 **Me:** What’s it like knowing your Soulmate?

 **Shouyou:** It’s great! We spend a lot of time together and have this like, way of just *getting* it, yknow?

 **Me:** Not really

 **Shouyou:** It’s like, we’re super in sync! I don’t have to explain things because we’re sorta connected. And it’s even better for volleyball! I think it’s mostly just awesome *knowing* that we have that special connection

 **Me:** Why is it special?

 **Shouyou:** I can’t really explain. It’s just sort of this feeling I have, like pwah! In my chest. I guess that’s my soul?

 **Me:** That sounds kind of frightening, Shouyou.

 **Shouyou:** No, no! It’s really cool!

 **Shouyou:** Plus, there’s the colors (╯✧∇✧)╯

 **Me:** Tell me about them?

Shouyou’s way with words is about as useful as Kenma anticipated (that is to say, not at all), but his sheer enthusiasm reawakens the curiosity that six-year-old Kenma had once felt. He really does want to see the colors, one day.

And maybe having a special connection with someone wouldn’t be so bad after all: In theory, Kenma doesn’t think Soulmates are always romantic, it’s just the most common. Soulmates tend to end up married because, as his parents say, “no one else seems to fit,” but maybe _he_ doesn’t have to.

But Shouyou hadn’t said anything about dating or romance or kissing with his Soulmate, so even if it’s just because they’re young, Kenma feels a bit more reassured that _if_ he finds his Soulmate, it doesn’t mean he has to date that person.

Kenma doesn’t think dating makes much sense.

He remembers back to his preschool days, when he was so intrigued by the colors that he made everyone look him in the eye hoping to find his “special person” so he could figure out what this “burnt sienna” crayon was all about.

Honestly, it’s the lure of the colors that tips the scales, and he decides that he’s ready to talk to Kuroo about it.

 

“I want you to help me practice making eye contact,” Kenma says in the middle of lunch four days later.

Kuroo almost chokes on a mouthful of rice. When he recovers, he asks Kenma very seriously, “Are you absolutely sure?”

Kenma considers the question. To be honest, he _isn’t_ absolutely sure, because there’s still that fear and anxiety weighing down on his chest, but he is _mostly_ certain this is what he wants.

“I want to at least try it,” Kenma hedges.

“I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to upset you or make you uncomfortable,” Kuroo says carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’ve talked to Shouyou about it: I think it’s the best idea. I can’t keep being this scared all the time,” he admits. “It’s really messing me up.”

“Okay,” Kuroo says, “but we should do it when we have lots of time, in a low-stress environment. Like, in your room, maybe when you’re a little sleepy?”

“Why would I need to be sleepy?”

“You’re less tense when you’re tired. If you’re well-rested, you’ll go into overthink mode, which would probably make things a lot more stressful.”

“You have a point,” Kenma agrees.

“And there’s no rush,” Kuroo says. “We can take as much time as you need.”

“Let’s try it this weekend,” Kenma says.

“Okay,” Kuroo agrees, “but if you change your mind just tell me, alright?”

 

Kenma is very seriously considering changing his mind.

Kuroo is over, sitting cross-legged on Kenma’s bed. It’s just about quarter to ten at night, and Kenma is what he _thought_ was an appropriate state of sleepiness, but the anticipation of what he is about to do floods his body with adrenaline and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

“Never too late to say no,” Kuroo says. “Seriously, no judgement.”

“I know,” Kenma says. “But I… I need to do this. For myself.”

“Alright,” Kuroo nods. “Sooo… how do you want to do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, should we count it off? Or would you rather go slow and kinda find my gaze? What do you think?”

Kenma thinks for a moment.

“I think… I think it’d be easier if I was in control,” Kenma says.

“I support that,” Kuroo says. “You _are_ the brain, after all.”

“You’re so embarrassing, Kuroo.”

“I can’t help it,” he says with a chuckle. “Alright, so uh, I’m ready whenever you are. I’m gonna be looking at you, and you can look at me whenever you’re ready.”

Kenma nods. “Tell me when you’re looking,” he says, voice small. He closes his eyes tight, and tilts his head down so that even if his eyes were open, he’d only see his lap.

“I’m looking,” Kuroo says gently.

Kenma instinctively curls in on himself.

 _I don’t know if I can do this,_ he thinks. But when he remembers all the reasons why he’s doing this—to be healthier, less scared and anxious, to allow himself the chance of seeing those colors—he swallows slowly and takes a deep, controlled breath.

Gently, he opens his eyes so he’s staring at his lap. He looks at the light gray shading of his pants, examining the woven pattern of the threads before letting his eyes skitter over to Kuroo’s legs.

There, he investigates the fabric of Kuroo’s sweatpants, dark, probably black, and loose.

As he always does when he wants to look at someone’s face, he lets his gaze travel over to one of Kuroo’s hands, and begins the process of finding his face.

Kenma’s eyes trace up Kuroo’s fingers to his wrist, the scaphoid bone sticking up at a pleasant angle. Next, they travel up a long forearm, dusted in dark hairs that lie against tanned skin.

He continues on past Kuroo’s elbow, eyes still carefully controlled, and up a well-toned biceps. Kuroo’s t-shirt sleeve interrupts the muscle halfway up, so Kenma traces the fabric now, following it all the way to the shoulder seam.

Next, he traces the seam over to Kuroo’s collar, where he finds Kuroo’s neck, with a prominent Adam’s apple in the center of his throat. It bobs as he swallows, and Kenma distantly wonders if this is making Kuroo nervous at all.

It feels like hours have passed by the time Kenma finds Kuroo’s chin, though he is quite used to looking at Kuroo’s mouth. After he had gotten accustomed to Kuroo all those years ago, he discovered that most of Kuroo’s intentions and moods could be read on his lips. Kenma’s sketchbook was full of studies of Kuroo’s mouth, and seeing those lips felt reassuring, somehow.

After this, though, was almost completely new territory. Kuroo’s nose and cheeks were the only things separating Kenma from meeting those eyes, and he sensed their gaze on him.

He knew Kuroo was trying to keep his expression neutral, but the slight tightness in the corners of his lips betrayed him.

 _So Kuroo_ is _nervous,_ Kenma thinks to himself. Of all the times Kuroo has had to be the strong one, Kenma thinks maybe it’s his turn, now. With another slow, controlled breath, Kenma moves from Kuroo’s mouth up to his philtrum, and finally moves up to his nose.

Kuroo’s gaze is right there, he can _feel_ it, and his heartrate picks up noticeably. Kenma lets his gaze rest there for a moment, mentally preparing himself for the final barrier.

As Kuroo draws in a breath as though to speak, Kenma finds a final burst of courage, and meets Kuroo’s eyes.

His first thought is _depth_.

His second thought is that his heart really shouldn’t be beating this fast.

Kenma forces himself to take a few slow breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth in a quick stream.

Finally, he decides to actually _look_ at Kuroo, now that he’s calmed the panic down a bit.

Kuroo’s eyes are narrow and dark in a decidedly feline manner. They’re a bit tense around the edges, and his long, curved eyelashes keep blinking, breaking their gaze just slightly. Kenma’s not sure if this makes the eye contact better or worse.

From this close, Kenma can distinctly see where Kuroo’s pupils end and the iris begins, watches that muscle adjust minutely every time Kuroo blinks.

Kenma blinks a few times, lets his gaze dance around the edges of Kuroo’s eyes. Something in the corner of his eye flickers, but when he blinks again it’s gone.

They sit there in silence, face to face on Kenma’s bed, for long minutes. Kenma’s sure that several hours have passed, but that doesn’t seem to be the case, since the sun hasn’t come up yet.

His breathing, he realizes, has calmed down to the point where it’s almost normal.

The flicker in his vision comes back, but again, a few quick blinks and it’s gone once more.

 _This isn’t … terrible_ , Kenma thinks to himself. Of course, doing this with someone like Kuroo, whom he’s known for years at this point, is bound to go better than meeting the eyes of strangers.

Kuroo begins blinking rapidly, brows suddenly furrowed, and Kenma cocks his head. Kuroo brings his hands up to Kenma’s shoulders, letting them hover for a moment before Kenma gives a slight nod of consent.

“Kenma,” Kuroo breathes, voice shaky. “Kenma, I need you to stay calm.”

 _What?_ Kenma thinks. _I’m doing much better now. Why would he suddenly tell me to stay calm…?_

“I can… You… Your…” Kuroo stutters. He blinks in quick succession, fingers tightening their grip on Kenma’s shoulders.

“Kuroo, you’re scaring me,” Kenma whispers.

“I—It’s okay, just stay calm. But your eyes, they’re… I can’t describe it. I don’t know what I’m seeing,” Kuroo says quietly, almost reverently.

Kenma breaks eye-contact and brings a hand up to his eyes, squeezing them shut, as though there might be something tangible there that he could wipe away and take away the fear and panic on Kuroo’s features.

“It’s nothing bad!” Kuroo says unconvincingly, ducking his head down to try to find Kenma’s gaze again.

“What…” Kenma’s vision flickers again over Kuroo’s hands. _What is going on?_ He wonders. The panic is creeping into his veins, too, and he starts cursing himself for wanting to make eye contact, for thinking it would be safe and okay.

Suddenly, Kuroo lets out a gentle gasp, and Kenma’s eyes fly open again as Kuroo’s hands are flying from Kenma’s shoulders to his hair.

“Kenma!” he exclaims, sounding like relief. He runs his fingers through Kenma’s long strands and lets out a little giggle. “Kenma, it’s _color_!”

“ _What_ ,” Kenma demands, his gaze darting back up to Kuroo’s face as if on instinct—an instinct he has worked to suppress for the past decade. His skin looks… warmer. Deeper. _Is that—?_

“Your hair, it matches your eyes. I- I don’t know what to call it, but it’s a color. It looks so… crisp! Or warm!”

“Kuroo, what…” but then Kenma realizes that the flickers in his vision have brought something else with them this time.

It doesn’t hit all at once, like everyone said it would. In fact, the shift is so slight that Kenma’s not sure if he’s just panicked and imagining things still, but after a few more rapid blinks, he can see that there’s something… there.

Slowly, the greyish colors around him begin to take on some kind of tint. Kenma doesn’t have the name for the color, but it’s getting more and more saturated now. It hurts his eyes, this new brightness. His brain feels like it’s on fire, trying to process this previously unknown concept of _color_ and he knows he probably looks like a gaping idiot but it’s a distant thought, not even a concern really, because all Kenma can see is Kuroo and this strange, bright warmth.

“What..?” he repeats dumbly. _He’s seeing in color._

Well, partial color. Only one hue seems to have filled his vision, as the rest of the world persists in its black-and-white state.

But little hints of color appear all around his room. Edward Elric’s hair is bright and clear; his volleyball medal, the one earned in his last tournament with Kuroo, now has a distinct and deep shine; a couple of his books and the Donkey Kong game cartridge have changed, too.

His eyes dart back to Kuroo’s, who looks to be close to the verge of tears, before he remembers that Kuroo mentioned his hair.

Kenma dashes over to the small mirror on his wall to examine himself. His hair indeed matches the other splashes of color in the room, and he thinks back to what color the box had said: _Light Golden Blond._ So this color was… blond? That didn’t sound like any of his colored pencils. _His pencils!_

Kuroo watches Kenma with confusion as he nearly throws himself under his bed, rooting around there for the small art box.

He drags it with him to the bed and rejoins Kuroo.

“Why do you have these?” Kuroo asks, bewildered.

“I’ve always loved colors, even though I couldn’t see them. I… I really wanted to see them. When I was little, my parents told me about them and I’ve been curious ever since. I got these on a whim, to go with my drawings, but…”

Kenma pauses, runs his hands over the smooth pencils. Some of them – the ones labeled blue, violet, black, grey—look the same as always. Others look dazzling: yellow and orange are the most striking, but green looks a little brighter and red has a bit more character to it.

“… I never could have imagined…” Kenma whispers, more to himself than to Kuroo, perhaps.

He takes out his sketchbook, flipping through the pages he’s already colored to see what they look like now.

“Did you..?” Kuroo asks quietly.

Kenma can barely offer a nod, too caught up in the swirling colors on the page.

The longer he looks, the clearer they become: he can see yellow distinctly from orange now, noting the depth and texture of each color.

Green begins to come into its own, too: Kenma can see the yellow in it still, but there’s something _new_ he can’t quite place.

“Kuroo, this is incredible,” he says, and when he blinks he feels a tear roll down his cheek. He looks up at Kuroo, meeting his eyes confidently now.

Kuroo is staring at Kenma still, a mixture of excitement, happiness, and something like bewilderment on his face.

His skin is a rich, warm color—burnt sienna, almost, Kenma decides from his pencils—and his eyes are a light brown color, flecked with gold and green.

The longer they stare at each other, though, the more forced Kuroo’s smile looks.

“Kuroo…?” he asks.

“You know what this means, though,” Kuroo says so quietly that Kenma’s not even sure if he said it out loud.

“What—“ Kenma begins.

“The colors,” Kuroo interrupts. “You know why we can see them now?”

“Oh.”

“Is that… is it okay? That it’s me?” Kuroo asks, and Kenma has never seen his friend this shy before.

 _Kuroo is his Soulmate._ Kenma isn’t really certain what that will mean for them just yet, but he feels _safe,_ knowing that it’s Kuroo. It could have been a stranger, someone that the alleged ‘fates’ decided on a whim was his Soulmate.

He could have met Kuroo’s eyes years ago, before they were such good friends, and been petrified.

Kenma thinks this has probably all worked out alright.

“It’s fine, Kuroo,” Kenma replies gently. “I’m… I’m glad it’s you.”

“You are?” Kuroo asks, and a strangled laugh, one of relief and nerves, bubbles out of him.

“Of course,” Kenma says. The longer the idea that Kuroo is his Soulmate settles into his mind, the more at ease he feels.

“Oh thank _everything_ ,” Kuroo breathes, and lunges forward to hold Kenma in a tight hug.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Kenma says. “Red looks good on you, I think.”

“Hah, I bet I look great in _every_ color.”

“I don’t know, I’m still not sure what ‘violet’ and ‘blue’ are. Maybe they’ll look awful on you.”

“Kozume Kenma, are you sassing me?” Kuroo asks in mock offense.

“This is disappointing, though: I think your hair is just black.”

“Why is that disappointing?”

“There’s _color_ now, Kuroo. Anything that’s still black-and-white is going to be a little lackluster.”

“Oi, my hair is _not_ lackluster,” Kuroo says, stroking his spikey bedhead protectively.

“Maybe I should just start calling you Kuro,” Kenma smirks, and a tiny giggle escapes.

Kuroo laughs heartily. “Did you just make a _color pun_? You’re perfect.”

“Glad you think so, because I hear this Soulmate thing is pretty permanent.”

They both laugh, and the tension and fear disappears completely.

 He used to pity his Soulmate, but now as colors swirl through Kenma’s vision for the first time, he feels nothing but gratitude and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate punny title for this fic: (color) Wheel you be my Soulmate?


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, if you will.

Two months later, Kenma is studying in the library peacefully when he hears a ruckus behind him.

Determined to ignore it, he hunches lower over his work, fastidiously highlighting his history notes according to his system: yellow for people, blue for dates, and pink for key terms.

The ruckus gets closer, though, and he braces himself for the arrival of one Kuroo Tetsurou.

“Kenma!” Kuroo declares.

Kenma rolls his eyes and sighs, annoyed at being disturbed from his exam preparations.

“Yes, Kuro?”

“Okay, so, in my Psychology class today, we were talking about Soulmates and there’s these things called Association Bonds? Have you heard of them before?”

Kenma considers the term and decides that no, he hasn’t. He shakes his head.

“Okay, so basically there’s three kinds of Soulmate bonds, and those types are called Associations. The main ones are Romantic and Platonic.

“Anyway, there’s a way to figure out which one yours is based on how you gained the color vision. Romantics tend to have a sudden burst of all the colors at once—which frankly sounds painful and awful and I for one am glad that didn’t happen to us—and Platonics will typically experience a slow but steady saturation of all the colors at once.”

Kenma makes a face of understanding, but then frowns. “Does ours count as Platonic then? I mean, it wasn’t all the colors at once, but it was certainly a more gradual process.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think it does,” Kuroo says, but he sounds excited and there’s a glint in his eye that accompanies his smirk, which means that he probably already has the answer to the question he’s about to ask.

Kenma fans out his hand in a gesture of _well go on, tell me._

“Alright, so I skipped math class—don’t look at me like that, this was important—to hit up the library and my main man Google for other kinds of Association Bonds. And wouldn’t you know, there’s two other types of bonds! Well, one’s kind of a subset of the other types, but…” Kuroo cuts himself off in his own excitement. “Okay, so it’s called a Poly Bond, and basically you and the other person only see a limited range of colors—usually only the primaries red, yellow, blue—until you meet a _third_ Soulmate to complete the bond and you get the rest of the colors!” 

“That’s really interesting, Kuro,” Kenma remarks honestly. “So what’s the other one you found?”

“The other one’s called a Queerplatonic Bond, or a QP Bond for short. It’s characterized by a single color fading in at a time, just like we had!”

“Um,” Kenma says quietly. “What does queerplatonic mean, exactly?”

“It’s like, this… in-between of romantic and platonic,” Kuroo says. “I dunno, the explanation seemed simple enough when I was reading it, but it’s like… Friendship, but stronger. And a little different. I’m not sure how to describe it.”

“That sounds… good,” Kenma decides.

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad. Bokuto’s been texting me because I told him about the Associations and he’s freaking out. I’m glad you’re handling it better than he is.”

“When have Koutarou and I _ever_ handled something similarly?” Kenma asks with a derisive snort.

“I dunno man, but I do _not_ envy Akaashi right now,” Kuroo says, shaking his head.

Kenma sighs, realizing that his study session is probably over, and closes his notebook. “What kind of Association..?”

“Romantic.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. And now that Bokuto knows, he’s in full on panic mode because he doesn’t seem to understand that it’s romantic from Akaashi’s side, too? He keeps talking about rejection and stuff.”

“Has he talked to Akaashi about it?”

“Of course not,” Kuroo laughs. “That would be logical. We’re talking about Bokuto. That guy is one giant, walking emotion. It’s not always a bad thing, but right now it’s fogging him up a bit.”

“He’ll come around.”

“I know, I just hope he does it soon.”

“I’ll let Keiji know about the Associations, if you want,” Kenma offers.

Kuroo purses his lips. “Normally, I’d say go for it, but I feel like this is kinda personal? Maybe we should stay out of it.”

Kenma considers. “What if I tell him about our Association? If I mention that you’re the one who figured it out, Keiji will probably figure that you shared it with Koutarou. Keiji’s smart, and one look at Koutarou will tell him something is up anyway.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Still slightly meddlesome, but in a way that doesn’t force Bokuto into having to verbalize his feelings immediately. I like the way you think.”

Kenma smirks. “A very wise team captain has called me the Brain on more than one occasion.”

Kuroo laughs. “I love it when you sass me.”

“Good, because I don’t plan to stop any time soon.”

 

It was a fairly easy transition for Kenma from best friends to known Soulmates with Kuroo. He still withholds eye-contact from most people—it’s too intimate to do with strangers and people he doesn’t know very well—but the terror he felt for accidentally meeting someone’s eye is mostly gone.

He and Kuroo decided to keep their Bond private, or at least not flaunt it. Kenma’s parents are aware, and of course Bokuto and Akaashi know, but the pair decided that most everyone else didn’t really need to know.

Except for Shouyou.

Kenma announced his intention of telling Shouyou only hours after they had established the Bond.

“Are you sure? I mean, are we going to tell people about this?” Kuroo had asked.

“Did you not want to?” Kenma asks, suddenly worried. He had been so caught up in the colors, so excited and intrigued that he hadn’t considered hiding it. He wants to share his colors with everyone, wants to draw and paint and dye things every shade imaginable.

He doesn’t see how being Soulmates has to do with much of anything, at first.

“Well, it’s just kind of personal, yknow?” Kuroo says awkwardly. “And there are um… expectations…”

Kenma doesn’t catch it at first, but then realizes that Kuroo means the romantic implications that most Soulmates have.

“I’m not… interested in that,” Kenma says.

“I mean, I’m not really either? But people will talk, and I know you don’t like the spotlight on you. It’s uncommon enough to meet your Soulmate in high school that if we’re really open about it, it might get kinda gossipy.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not saying we pretend it’s not there, just maybe shouldn’t go around telling _everyone_.”

“Shouyou’s not everyone,” Kenma says, returning to the original question at hand. “Unless you’re worried that he’ll tell Karasuno and somehow, a high school in a totally different prefecture is going to spread rumors about us.”

“I… No.  I guess not. Alright, go ahead and tell him then. Tell him I say ‘hey,’” Kuroo says.

“Is that one ‘hey’ or three?” Kenma deadpans.

“Just one is fine,” Kuroo says with a light shove to Kenma’s shoulder.

When Shouyou responds, it’s with three messages worth of emojis and confusing punctuation that Kenma correctly interprets as excitement and happiness for his friend.

 

Probably the best way that Kenma’s relationship with Kuroo has changed since their Bond formed is that Kenma no longer feels inhibited by his anxiety about eye-contact. Really, Kenma is a very physical person, and enjoys cuddling.

When he was younger, he would cuddle with his parents, and as he got older, the family’s cats.

He craved the closeness and warmth of people, but he couldn’t bear the thought of actually doing it, even with Kuroo.

With their newfound Soulmate status, though, Kenma finds himself curling up in Kuroo’s lap, leaning on his shoulder, or pulling an arm around his waist when they go to sleep.

Kuroo seems to enjoy it quite a bit, and soon they establish a sort of give and take that doesn’t require any verbal communication at all: they simply _know_ when the other wants the closeness, the physical comfort of the other’s presence, and there they are.

Sometimes, they hold hands and hug, and Kuroo becomes fond of dropping light kisses in Kenma’s hair. Kenma prefers nuzzling into Kuroo’s chest, rubbing his nose there affectionately.

As their relationship grows, so does the richness of the colors that they see, and Kenma’s drawings become more and more attuned to the harmonies of the different hues he can make with his pencils, and even how those colors can translate to emotions and feelings.  

Kenma can’t think of a better way to spend his life than surrounded by colors and Kuroo.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it!   
> I might write a short bonus of Kuroo's POV of their first eye contact, if anyone's interested.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, because it was such a joy. I think this is probably some of my best fiction writing yet!
> 
> find me on tumblr and ko-fi as ricekrispyjoints, if you're into that kind of thing


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